"People do take walks before dinner."

"Maybe in Long Island," Julia murmured. "Here, we walk after dinner."

"I saw her go," Bret said. "She hit the beach about an hour ago, wandering around like she was in some kind of trance. She's probably halfway to San Diego by now."

"See there?" Julia said, beckoning for Rebecca. "Join us in a drink, Andrew. Alison is fine. She knows her way around."

"Are you kidding?" Bret came off the railing. "She didn't even know her own name. I shouted at her several times, and she didn't look up."

Andrew didn't smile. "My guess is she didn't want to talk to you."

Bret smiled, but it was vicious. "My guess is she doesn't know her own name."

"Bret, don't be ridiculous," Julia said impatiently. "Rebecca, I need another drink. And bring something for Andrew."

Andrew looked hard at Bret, trying to size him up. It could just be more of his spoiled-brat routine, the sibling rivalry garbage. But if Bret had figured out that Marnie wasn't his sister, and he intended to try and prove it, then Andrew had one more time bomb on his hands. He could feel the pressure mounting as he weighed Bret's open hostility against Julia's inebriation. Were either of them capable of masterminding an elaborate frame-up scheme? One was becoming more aggressive, the other seemed to be cracking up. It could be either of them.

Rebecca hurried over with a tray of drinks, which Bret neatly intercepted, since Andrew was already on his way to the ramp that led to the stairs to the beach.

"Don't hold dinner," Andrew called back. "I'm going for a walk."

It seemed to take forever to get down the several steep flights of steps, and he found the shore nearly deserted when he got there. This was a public beach that often got crowded during the day, but most people packed up and went home around dinnertime.

The sun was dropping and the breeze getting chilly. To the north, he could see all the way to the Mirage Bay pier, where the neon lights of the arcade were already blazing. To the south the beach wound around the cliffs, and his visibility was limited. Bret hadn't said which way she'd gone, but he'd mentioned San Diego. That was south.

Andrew glanced back up at the terrace. Bret stood at the railing, looking down. Rebecca was right next to him.

Andrew went south.

Andrew was on the path from the beach to Gramma Jo's house when he saw Marnie walking toward him. She was gripping something in her hand, and she'd left the front door of the cottage hanging open. Apparently she'd walked all the way from the Fairmont mansion to get here, which was well over a mile, by his estimation. He'd just made the same trip himself, and he could feel the strain in his legs.

She advanced with her head high and her face stricken. Even the wild dark hair flying around her couldn't hide the raw emotion he saw. She already knew the news he'd been planning to break to her. Her grandmother was gone, but not on a cruise. He'd done enough checking to discover that no one actually knew where Josephine Hazelton was.

But Marnie didn't want comfort. He could see that, too. Pain bristled from her like porcupine quills. It was her barrier. And he had to respect that. He'd always admired her nerve. Another woman might have allowed him to take her in his arms and comfort her, even Alison. But not this one. She would have turned him into a pillar of salt.

She stopped three feet in front of him and held up a shawl that shimmered with rainbow-sherbet hues and was fringed with long white tassels.

"Marnie? What's wrong?"

"She didn't take her wrap with her. She never went anywhere without this."

"That's your grandmother's wrap?"

Marnie unclenched her fingers and tried to smooth the wrinkles from the fragile silk material. The tassels bounced around, getting in her way.

Andrew didn't attempt to help her. This was sacred territory.

"She would never have left it behind," Marnie said. "It belonged to her aunt, and she was superstitious that way."

Now she was trying to fold the slippery material into something smaller and neater, something manageable.

"Let's go sit on the porch and talk," he suggested.

"No, I can't."

The dark hair fell away from her face as she looked up at him. Her intensity actually spooked him at times, the wary chill in her eyes, the sullen heat in her mouth. She was wild at heart, frightened-and frightening. But it was the kind of fear that attracted a man, called out to him like the sirens on the rocks, whispering an invitation and threatening to wreck you if you took it.

He felt a stirring in his groin and hated himself for the impulse. He couldn't go there, couldn't even let himself think about going there.

"Something terrible has happened to my grandmother," she said. "She's gone, and she didn't leave any clues, nothing for me to find. Not even a note."

He quieted his voice. "Why would she have left you a note, Marnie? She thought you were dead."

Pain pierced her gaze, but she went on talking. "She told my friend LaDonna that she was going to a hospital of some kind, but I didn't find any record of that, no phone number, no doctor's name."

"Marnie, it won't be that hard to find her. There aren't that many hospitals in the area."

He wasn't sure she'd heard him. She'd tucked the shawl under her arm for safekeeping, and all he could think about was how young she was. Not how young she looked. She was young, twenty-two, and seriously inexperienced, he suspected. She hardly looked different than the day he'd pulled Butch and his thug friends off her. But that was Marnie and this was Alison. Alison with Marnie's eyes and Marnie's soul.

It was amazing how a personality could change the face.

"It's one thing to ruin my own life," she said. "I have to live with that and with what I did to Butch. But I didn't ever want to hurt her. She gave her whole life to raising me."

Andrew glanced past her to the house and the small forest of oak trees behind it. He wondered if she'd gone into the glen and tried to face down that horror. It could account for her state of mind.

"It's getting late," he said. "Let's start walking back."

She searched his face, as if seeking something, but with little hope of finding it. Was he to be trusted? Was anyone?

Anguish. Those were the waters she swam in. The despair in her expression made him feel helpless-and Christ, he hated that feeling.

"I'll find your grandmother," he said. "I promise."

Goose bumps rippled down her bare arms. It almost looked painful. She averted her gaze, but began to nod. He wasn't sure why.

"Let's walk," she said.

The light was fading quickly as they walked back, and the beach was nearly empty, except for a few die-hard surfers and some families packing up to go home. It was too late for swimming and too early for beach fires, which made it quiet and peaceful, but lonely, too.

They'd walked probably a mile when she stopped and turned to him.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"For listening to me. I must have sounded pretty crazy."

"You're frightened and worried. That's not the same as crazy."

"Yeah." She nodded, and they walked a few more feet. He stopped this time.

"I have something of yours," he said. "I'm not sure this is the right time but I think you should have it. I was at your grandmother's cottage this morning. I'd been to the flea market, trying to get more information on her. I talked to several people this time, and most of them expressed concerns about the cruise she was supposed to have gone on. They said she'd been away too long. They hadn't seen her in weeks."

He took the jewelry box from his jacket. "This was on her dresser. According to the writing on the box, it belongs to you. I thought you might like to have it."

He opened the box, and she moved closer for a look at the delicate gold chain inside. It sparkled in the low pink light.

"My grandmother gave me this when I was a kid so I could wear the copper penny around my neck," she said. "I wore it night and day until the chain broke. We never had the money to get it fixed, but..." Marnie took the chain from the box, letting it hang from her fingers. "It's not broken anymore."

"She must have had it done after you disappeared. Apparently she did believe you were coming back."

She opened the clasp, took the battered copper ring from the pocket of her shorts and looped the chain through the penny. "She actually believed the ring would protect me, and at first, I wore it mostly to humor her. Can you put it on me?" she asked, handing it to him.

As he fastened the chain around her neck, he realized that this was the reason she would stay. None of his promises to exonerate her meant anything to her, really. They weren't persuasive, but this was. She would not be able to leave until her grandmother was found. And Andrew needed her to stay. All of his meticulous planning would blow sky-high without her-and it might blow anyway. He hadn't received another blackmail threat since the first one, but he could feel it coming in his gut. Time was running out.

He needed to focus on that instead of the curve of her neck-and how vividly he could remember the line of that curve as she lay in naked slumber in her perpetually darkened bedroom in Long Island. That was inappropriate right now, and it would be inappropriate later, too, because he'd promised her there wasn't going to be any sex, and himself that there wouldn't be any more thoughts of it.

And she was so goddamn young.

"Why do you let her do it to you, Reb?"

"Do what?" Sweat dripped from Rebecca's brow as she pumped away on the elliptical trainer, ignoring Bret Fairmont as best she could. She grabbed the towel and mopped her forehead, wishing she hadn't stripped down to her sports bra and bicycle shorts. She hated the thought that he could see the rolls of flesh created by the strangling tightness of her shorts.

He was a pig, even when he tried to be nice to her. He didn't understand her life-never would, never could, and probably didn't care enough to bother. That made him a pig.

"Why do you let her take her frustrations out on you?" he said. "Tell her to fuck off."

Right, just like you tell her to fuck off?

He was standing in the doorway of the workout room, and Rebecca was on the elliptical trainer facing the windows that looked out at the terrace. She could see him in her peripheral vision, cocky and artlessly gorgeous in his trunks and tank top, but she preferred the view out the window, which was pitch-black oblivion, except for the lights on the terrace.

Bret definitely brought out the worst in her. She'd been raised by strict parents who had taught her to be unfailingly polite, but somehow when he got her alone, he could always provoke her into trading barbs. If only she had the nerve now to tell him to leave her alone. She would be changing machines in a minute, which would bring her face-to-face with his insinuating smirk.

Some people could invade your privacy just by being within eyeshot. He was like that with her. He took...liberties.

He would laugh at the word, she knew. Liberties.

Pig.

"You want some water?" He walked over to the watercooler and poured himself a cup. "You're going to get dehydrated the way you're sweating."

"I want to sweat," she mumbled. "Water weight."

She mopped herself with the towel again, her face, her neck, even her cleavage this time. Let him look. Let him lust over her voluptuousness. The thought would have made her convulse with laughter, except that he actually had lusted once. He'd been a man with a mission. Maybe he only got hot for women who were totally unlike his mother. Some men had kinks that way.

He drank the water and crushed the cup. "You need to be more assertive, Reb."

The wall behind him was floor-to-ceiling mirrors, which seemed to accentuate his height and his leanness. If anything, he might be too lean, in her opinion, but the width of his shoulders saved him from skinniness. They made his torso a lovely elongated triangle.

Of course, the mirrors did the opposite with her body. She could see every flaw-her love handles and her double chin, and now they were glistening with sweat. Ugh.

It took courage, but she got herself a fresh towel from the linen cabinet that she kept stocked, and walked over to her machine, which was next to the water cooler.

"Excuse me," she said, waiting for him to get out of the way. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel the tick of blood through the veins in her throat.

His smile was sexy, mocking. "That's not assertive."

He meandered over. She thought about standing her ground, but that didn't last when he moved into her space, her breathing space. She was still panting from her workout, and she could feel the heat emanating off her body. He must be able to feel it, too. She was burning up.

She took a half step back.

"You shouldn't let anybody push you around," he said.

He reached out and touched her mouth, fondling her lower lip. For some reason, she didn't move as he trailed his thumb over its fullness. The unwelcome caress ignited a shower of sparks in the depths of her belly.

"Did I ever tell you how much I like your lips?"

"Probably."

He smiled. "If you were more assertive, you wouldn't let me be doing things like this...kissing you when you don't want to be kissed."

She reached up to knock his hand away, but he hooked her wrist and pulled her close. "Kissing the shit out of you," he said, as his mouth came down on hers.

Rebecca's head was thrown so far back she couldn't get her balance. She flailed and grabbed him by the hair. The point was to yank it, and she thought that's what she was doing, but his moans told her that she was encouraging him. And then, suddenly, she was encouraging him.

She gripped his head with her clawing fingers, prolonging the kiss. She was moaning, too, and panting, and grabbing at him with her other hand. His back, his hip, his butt. She squeezed his cheek and he nearly crushed her in his excitement. His hips banged into hers, grinding and sliding, and his penis got harder with every rotation.

It all got wild and confusing after that, except that it was perfectly clear they were going to do it. He tore at her bicycle shorts and she tried to help him. Nothing else mattered except getting their pants off, and when that was done, he backed her to the wall and entered her.

Two hard thrusts and she was screaming for more. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, struggling to move with him. But he couldn't hold her, and they slid down the wall and hit the hardwood floor with a bump. Fortunately, she had some padding.

"Mmm, Reb, I love pushing you around," he said, as he rolled her onto her back and entered her again.

"Ouch." Her backbone was trying to saw its way through the floor as he rocked her back and forth. "This isn't working."

He pulled out abruptly and hoisted her to her knees. "I've got a great idea," he said as he tipped her over the nearest workout bench. Before she could get her balance, he was behind her, inside her and thrusting again, thrusting wildly.

"Oh, baby, I love fucking you," he gasped. "Why did we ever stop?"

He barely got the words out before he convulsed in spasms of pleasure. She clung to the bench, trying to catch her breath as he fell on her and embraced her passionately. He seemed happy, but it really hadn't worked all that well for her. It never did.

There was no postcoital cuddling. Bret possessed just enough chivalry to help her off the bench, and that was it. He bent to his ankles and yanked up his shorts. Rebecca still had one leg in hers, but couldn't move quickly. She had spandex and sweaty flesh to deal with.

When she looked up he was zipped up and done. You'd never know he'd just been humping like a hound dog. He'd barely broken a sweat. That made her hate him more. That and the fact that he was watching her struggle to get her damn bicycle shorts back on.

She would have turned away, but that view wasn't any better. She hated those disgusting mirrors. They were a cruel joke of the fitness industry, designed to promote self-loathing and keep people using their equipment. Julia probably loved them, the skinny bitch. Skinny old bitch. She kept her age a deep dark secret, but she had to be at least fifty.

"Don't let my mother bust your chops about being fat," he said. "It's none of her business."